


Apologies

by Cry_for_Judas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, M/M, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cry_for_Judas/pseuds/Cry_for_Judas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You carry so much guilt in your bones. Doesn't it feel like you're sinking into the ground?</p>
<p>(9.03 coda fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I owe Amanda (wingchestr) a great debt for being the best gosh darn friend and beta anyone could ever ask for. Her guidance and advice mean the world to me. I hope you enjoy the finished product, babe. xoxo

“You can’t stay here.” He punches the words out as gruffly as possible, pretending he’s not choking on his own tears.

After all the trials, tribulations, strife, and outright unfairness he finally had what he’d spent years so desperately yearning for. His family, safe and more-or-less healthy and here. Having it ripped away from him yet again was like tearing the stitches on a wound that never heals. The pain is familiar but still as sharp as the very first time. Even if Cas is taken from him a thousand times, he will never, ever be used to the wounds that appear in his absence.

Cas, though, has a much different reaction. He looks up at Dean with damp but solemn eyes, as though he expected this all along.

“Why?” Cas questions flatly. There’s no curiosity there. It’s as if he asks just because he thinks he should, looking up at his friend with resignation.

The acceptance on his face, more than anything else, stabs through Dean as though Cas had pierced him with the angel blade rather than his watery, blue eyes.

He drops down into a nearby chair, resting his hand next to Cas’s on the tabletop. Close, but not quite touching. As always.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers brokenly to the tops of Cas’s feet.

 

                                                                                             ---

The halls of the bunker are dark and empty, save for one sleepless occupant. Dean stands at the war room table, packing a duffle for Cas. He fills it with snacks, water bottles, one of his old phones, and all the cash he could find laying around the bunker. He plans on buying Cas a bus ticket tomorrow morning. He’ll let Cas pick the destination.

 

                                                                                            ---

Dean gasps awake, soaked in sweat, stomach roiling from the first nightmare he’s had in months. He rubs his hands furtively over his face in an attempt to erase the scene from his brain. But try as he might, he still sees Cas – wings aflame, stepping out onto a cliff-face before letting himself drop off the edge into the inky darkness below. He lies back on his pillows, still struggling for breath, as the door creaks open.

Dean lunges for the knife he keeps under his pillow, holding it close to his side as the intruder enters.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Cas murmurs, eyes locked on the blade sitting atop Dean’s blankets.

Dean sheaths the knife and sits up, patting the space next to him. “You can sit down if you want, man.”

Cas settles close by, arms and knees pressing against Dean’s.

“So, what brings you around?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas answers. “I’ve found it to be very difficult.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. It feels like all he can say anymore.

A bitter chuckle escapes Cas’s mouth. “You always apologize for the things you cannot control.”

_You don’t even know the half of it_ , he wants to say.

But instead, he shrugs. Huffs out a sigh.

“What else _can_ I do?”

Cas turns at that, staring into Dean’s eyes with the same electric intensity as that first day in the barn.

“You carry so much guilt in your bones,” he whispers into the small space between them. “Doesn’t it feel like you’re sinking into the ground?”

Staring back into Cas’s sorrowful eyes, Dean realizes: Cas understands. Cas has always understood.

Now, sitting in the dark with their faces only inches apart, is no exception. Dean can see every flickering emotion in Cas’s eyes; the sorrow, the guilt, the longing, the pure, unprecedented _want_.

The mirror image of said want that has been cast from Dean’s eyes for six years. The realization takes him aback. It’s nothing that he had ever expected, yet it remains, seeping out of the murky depths of Cas’s eyes. Staring him straight in the face.

Suddenly, they’re standing on a precipice. Over the edge lies uncertainty, the inky black depths of Dean’s earlier dream.

To jump is to fly, or to fall to their deaths. To stay is to stagnate, be crystalized in the amber of time. Forever trapped in this moment.

So he jumps.

Leaning in, he cups Cas’s face as he gently brings their lips together. Cas moves forward, softly nibbling the bottom of Dean’s lip. He presses Dean against the mattress, straddling him almost timidly.

“I haven’t had sex with a man, yet,” Cas states, blunt as ever.

Dean nods. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

He _can_ take care of Cas. In this way, if nothing else.

They undress each other with reverence, touching and tasting bared skin as if it is the most precious gift either of them has ever received. Dean supposes that it might be.

He reaches into his nightstand, pulling out the bottle that was once his trusty friend. He wonders now if it’s not past its prime.

He squirts some into his palm. When it still spreads like nobody’s business, he assumes it to be fine.

Cas moans quietly when Dean begins to open him up. Dean’s fingers are long and dexterous; stretching Cas thoroughly while leaving him gasping and eager for more. He takes his time, savoring the flushed and blissful expression on Cas’s face. If only it could always be there.

Dean is working Cas open with three fingers when Cas stills his hand.

“I’m ready,” he says, staring up at Dean, eyes soft and earnest.

Dean nods and removes his fingers gently, one by one. Slowly, he lines up his dick and enters Cas’s body with tiny, controlled thrusts.

He has to stop twice, overwhelmed with the sensation, with the fact that it’s _Cas_ squirming and clenching beneath him. This isn't a fantasy anymore, this is real. 

When the majority of his length is buried inside Cas’s body, he looks down, locking their gazes. Cas gives a jerky nod and Dean begins to move; gentle, shallow thrusts that make Cas’s thighs quiver.

Dean interlaces their fingers, squeezing Cas’s palm so hard that it must be nearly painful. Yet it isn’t enough. No physical gesture could ever possibly demonstrate the pure need Dean has for Cas. A need so powerful that he can feel it grinding him to dust right where he kneels.

They keep their gazes fixed on each other, even when Dean takes Cas’s cock in hand, stroking and twisting so deftly that Cas’s vision nearly whites out. Shortly after, Dean topples over the edge with one last, erratic thrust.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers to the thick hair atop Cas’s head.

“Then don’t make me,” Cas answers. His voice is low and neutral, but Dean can hear the twinge of hopefulness there. It crushes him.

“I’m sorry.”

In the silence that descends, Dean finds himself unable to tell if it’s sweat or tears that are drying on his face.

 

                                                                                         ---

When Dean wakes from his second nightmare, the pearly, pre-dawn light illuminates the vacant side of the bed where Cas had laid only hours before. His sheets reek of sex and there are tearstains on his pillow. He doesn’t wash them.


End file.
